


Cruel Thing

by addictedkitten



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-19
Updated: 2005-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:28:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/addictedkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She needs him, and she hates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruel Thing

It's always the same: she's standing, bruised and aching from her fight with Lauren. Behind her, Lauren gets up, and then Vaughn is shooting, one, two, three, fourfivesix bullets into Lauren, into his _wife_ , and Sydney looks down. Her shirt is reddening, stung with gunshots. They're in a desert, and it's daylight. Lauren is gone. Vaughn says something she can't hear, and then shoots her again.

She falls.

She wakes up reaching for someone beside her. There's never anyone there.

She can never get back to sleep, after, and she doesn't speak to Vaughn much, unless she has to.

-

"Syd," Vaughn says. "Syd, _please_."

"Please, what?" she asks. He won't say it, she knows. Maybe if he did, she would give him another chance. 

If he said: "Sydney, it was always you, and I should never have married her. It was the worst mistake I've ever made. I've never loved anyone but you. I want things to go back to how they were before, but I know they can't. Let me make it up to you. Anyway I can."

But he doesn't say any of those things, and so she doesn't give him another chance.

Even though she wants to, even though she needs him.

She needs him, and she hates it.

-

He keeps trying. He knows where she lives ("I was just watching the game with Eric- how are you doing?" This is bullshit, and they both know it), and has an impressive catalogue of things to say which do not directly reference the problems between them, but leave room for discussion should the conversation go that way. When it does, she shuts the door.

One night, he tries a new tactic:

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" she asks.

This is a test.

"For-" he begins, and Sydney suddenly realizes that she doesn't want to hear it. At all.

"Stop talking," she says, and pulls him forward by his tie (does he ever wear anything other than a suit? Ever?). This isn't about Lauren, she thinks, and then, "This isn't about Lauren," she says aloud, because he probably thinks it is, but right now he is wrong. He has been wrong for some time. Syd has no intention of forgiving him tonight, but this is what she needs.

Vaughn knows her at least this well; he says nothing, just kisses her. That same familiar press of lips, and she needs this, god, she has needed this all summer and now that she has it again she wants to crawl out of her skin and into his. He moves her in the direction of the bedroom but that isn't the place for this, and she pulls him to the couch instead. 

"Syd," he says, as she climbs atop him. He clutches at her wrists, and she kisses him to forestall any further talking. 

This isn't another chance.

Kissing him is like the recoil of a gun. Startling even when expected, and the aftereffect of something violent. She pushes down, pressing him into the couch. He's hot against her, gasping at the pressure. He unzips her jeans and slides them down, but that's all the participation he's getting; once they're crumpled on the floor, she takes over. This is for her, and there is nothing unfamiliar but the absence in her heart where he used to be. 

She knows this: his strong arms, lightly defined stomach, narrow hips. The way he feels inside her, perfect. The way he makes her feel (angryjealousbitterhurtangry _angry_ ), hot and real and wet, as she thrusts down onto him. Keeping him still beneath her, because he can't be _with_ her anymore, not like he used to be, not like he should be. Not like she wants him to be. 

That doesn't matter. She wants him, that's what matters, and he's here. She rises and falls, her head thrown back, his hands on her hips, her breasts. Knowing exactly where to touch, even after all this time (not so long, but so much longer than she can recall), and his hands slide down, down, down. Pressing _there_ , his fingers moving in circles, and she grinds down, straining against him. Harder, faster, and she's shaking above him, feeling his name in the back of her throat. Shaking. She doesn't think she'll ever stop shaking.

He moans a little, thrusting up as she shudders against him. His eyes are closed. Sydney wonders if he's thinking of Lauren. She wonders if it matters.

"Syd," he says, going still beneath her. Thinking of her, then. Good. She climbs off of him, and begins getting dressed. Underwear. Jeans. Straightens her bra, puts her shirt back on. She doesn't look at him. 

"Is that what you needed?" he asks quietly. She turns. He's dressed, and getting his shoes on. Smart, Vaughn.

"Yes," she says. She sits down on the edge of the couch, closing her eyes. "And now I need you to leave."

"Sydney."

"Now." Her voice is low, but brooks no uncertainty. She needs him gone. She needs to think.

He sighs, heavily, and stands. "We'll talk later," he says. 

She says nothing.

He goes. 

There's not much point in staying up now; it's late, anyway. Sydney falls asleep on top of the bedcovers, still in her clothes. She doesn't think.

She doesn't dream, either.


End file.
